Sentience
by Patcher
Summary: Even after all they've done, some people are still adamant that Autobots are super-smart computers, and that they should be taken apart to see what makes them tick. Samuel James Witwicky is determined to convince them otherwise. Post RoTF. One-shot.


**Summary**: Even after all they've done, some people are still adamant that Autobots are super-smart computers, and that they should be taken apart to see what makes them tick. Samuel James Witwicky is determined to convince them otherwise. Post RoTF.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Transformers.

**Note**: I do not know if there's a Marshal in the movie, but the Marshal here is an OC. The plot bunny hit like Ratchet's wrench and I had to write it out. It feels a little... out of point though. Tell me what you think.

"**Generally, Autobots speak in bold.**"

.x.

_**Sentience**_

.x.

Samuel James Witwicky had been the Autobots' liaison for a little over one year.

In between that period of time, he had seen his fair share of politicians and their... disgusting (for the lack of an even more degrading term) ways of handling affairs regarding the Autobots. For so long, the Autobots had tolerated the unfair treatment and the insults thrown right at their face plates. They were treated like machines, non-sentient beings.

Sam had been vehement about it, but Optimus Prime, being the benevolent, patient leader he was, took all of the slag like a mech.

He didn't ask for extra funds when they needed it badly to buy parts; it resulted in the lack of metal to repair the Autobots after a violent battle with the Decepticons, and Optimus would be the one to have a missing piece of armor somewhere on himself.

They couldn't even let their guard down in their own base, as long as humans other than Sam and company (and yes, that includes Simmons) were in there. The last time they did, Ironhide's shoulder cannon had been tinkered with without his consent and he went into battle with it, just right after someone man-handled it.

To Ironhide's horror, the canon couldn't be activated and it almost cost Bumblebee's life just because he couldn't shoot at a Decepticon who had his weapon aimed at the scout.

Ironhide had stomped back into the base, yelling at the top of his vocals, exploiting his expansive vocabulary of expletives that would've made Ratchet proud for the human that had touched his precious canons without permission.

It had taken three hours, Optimus Prime, and a mild sedative to calm the mech down.

When Sam wanted to know why Optimus put up with all this crap, Optimus had given him a long, contemplative look and said, "**Humans are a young species. Give them time, Sam, and they will see things – us – like the way you do.**"

"How long, Optimus?" Sam retorted then. "Until someone dies in battle? They may not even give condolences then!"

Optimus Prime had no answer for that.

Sam, after that, was very convinced that he needed to do something to fulfill his role as the Autobots' liaison and friend. Sam was no longer the nervous boy he once used to be. He was now confident, and not afraid to speak for himself – or the Autobots.

Hanging out with aliens had that effect on him.

He dug out every resource he had as liaison, begged and grovelled in front of the Secretary of Defense, and managed to grab a few hours of the President's time to hold a meeting for all – politicians and personnel and Autobots alike – involved in N.E.S.T.

Sam didn't tell any of the Autobots what he was planning no matter how they pried or tried trick questions. Why?

Because he _had _no plan.

All he knew was that he was going to put a foot down and demand for rights for the Autobots. He had enough of all of... _this _and he was going to put an end to all of it today.

All of them had gathered in the hangar, the only place where all the humans and Autobots could fit. It wasn't even ten minutes into the meeting before it became a heated argument between what Sam had dubbed the 'Autobot Side' and 'Thick-headed Politicians Side'. The Autobots were strangely silent, standing behind Sam while giving opinions only when necessary.

In one hour, most of the humans had admitted that Autobots were sentient and deserved more respect than they were given, albeit a little grudgingly. The president even agreed to grant the Autobots more funds, and scientists promised not to touch anything without asking.

Most of them. Except one. The Marshal.

Sam could have left the one human alone, but he wanted _everyone _to give Autobots the respect they deserved. And if the Marshal wasn't happy and decided not to dispatch military personnel to aid to the Autobots in battle... Well, Sam didn't even want to think about what would happen.

"The NBEs are just machines! Weapons!" Marshal Weller exclaimed, jabbing a finger rudely at the gathered Autobots behind Sam. He was the only one who had not yet been convinced of the Autobots' sentience even after almost two hours of debating with Sam. Well, mostly because he didn't let Sam finish whatever he wanted to say.

"They have names, designations, Marshal! Use it!" Sam snapped right back, throwing his arms in the air in frustration. "Do your parents give you your name because they felt like it? Do they call you 'human' or 'organic' or 'flesh creature'?"

A low blow and an insult, but Sam deemed it necessary in order to get it into Weller's thick skull and into his brain, if he even had one.

A snort emerged from the crowd behind Sam. From who he had no idea, but it was silenced quickly, no doubt under Optimus's order.

The Marshal seethed at the impudence Sam displayed, and glared daggers at the him. "How can you be sure that they are sentient and not just super-smart computers?"

That earned the Marshal a few well-deserved glower from both humans and Autobots, but he didn't show any sign of backing down. Instead, Weller seemed to be pleased that his words hurt them, super computers or not. A smug grin that Sam would have loved to wipe off with a punch to the nose appeared on the general's face.

When Sam spoke again, his brown eyes were blazing in obvious anger, and his voice dribbling with venomous poison. "With all due respect, Sir, can I just have the respect I should have been shown as the Autobots' liaison and have _two slagging minutes _to speak without you interrupting me for every half a sentence I utter?"

A pause, and before Weller could get started on how rude Sam was, Sam interrupted in a cold, even voice.

"Oh, take note that I am beyond fragging pleasantries, for the little respect you deserve from me just disappeared into thin air with the statement you made." To emphasize his point, Sam made a poof-ing action with his hands. "Pfft. None. Nothing. Nil. Zero."

A few people actually laughed, but it died down as sudden as it began, for the tension in the hangar became so thick they could actually taste it.

"Two minutes, Marshal. Shut up and listen." It was a demand, voiced out in a tone that invited no room for debate.

Marshal Weller canted his head mockingly. "Go right ahead."

Sam took in a deep breath and began.

"Marshal, hear me properly, because I will have a question for you." The Marshal sneered, and the sarcastic '_pop quiz?_' hung in the air even without being uttered. Sam did a proper job of ignoring it.

"The Autobots have friends like humans do; they even have nicknames for each other – Ratchet the Hatchet, the Twin Terrors, Prowler and so on. They feel sadness, happiness, love, hate and grieve like we do. They even have funerals for their off-lined comrades like we do!

"You over there!" Sam gestured to a solider a few feet away from the Marshal. "You've been to one of the funerals, haven't you?"

A nod.

"See? They also have a sense of humor like humans do, albeit twisted ones." Sam spared an amused glance at the twins – Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Both only smirked in return, smugness radiating in waves from them.

Sam turned away and continued, "They even donate important parts of their bodies to their comrades after they're deactivated like humans donate organs! They care about their own like we do, and Autobots grow strong attachment to people they care. I have known them for barely five years, Sir, and I can confidently say that they _will _lay down their very own _lives _for _me_, a puny human not because of duty or obligation, but because they _care. _Everyone of them. Can you, General, list even five humans that have known you for less than five years and say that they will risk their lives for you in dire situations?"

Silence. Then, as Sam leveled Weller with narrowed eyes, 

"Super-smart computers, Sir? They are much more 'human' then you'd like. You cannot deny that they have their own religion and culture. Listen very carefully and choose your words wisely, Marshal, for my question is: Are the Autobots sentient, like us human beings, or are _we_, the humans, non-sentient as you've implied?"

When all was said and done, the hangar was deafeningly silent. Everyone turned to look at the Marshal expectantly, waiting for a verdict to Sam's final stand for the Autobots.

When the Marshal started fidgeting and looked everywhere but into his eyes, Sam suppressed the urge to smirk. All of them knew by then:

Marshal Weller was fighting a losing battle.

After that, everything changed for the Autobots. From basic rights to respect – the Autobots got what they truly deserved. Sam himself had garnered from the 'bots the respect of a level second to what they had for Prime.

"**Thank you, Sam.**" Optimus Prime rumbled, "**For everything.**"

Sam let a small smile grace his features. "I did what I could and am supposed to, Optimus."

"**But you did so much more, boy.** **Humans need time – and a catalyst to see the way you see us. You went an extra mile and became the bridge between us and humanity.**" Optimus's optics were twinkling with gratitude. "**It was a friend talking that day, and know that after a long time, all of us finally felt that Earth could truly become home.**"

And after a long time, ravaged by war and death, the Autobots felt hope.

.x.

_**End**_

.x.


End file.
